


If at first you don't succeed...

by darkpriestess



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkpriestess/pseuds/darkpriestess





	If at first you don't succeed...

Will lies awake at three in the morning listening to the sounds of Buenos Aires swirling outside the window, and thinks of killing the man sleeping beside him.

 

The work of a moment, he thinks, grab the knife under the bed, stab Hannibal Lecter in the heart, and then open up his own veins, let the police find them in a final embrace, their blood merging together, their hearts forever silent, the way Will had wanted at the cliff top months ago. No more victims for either of them, no nights staggering back up the stairs, drunk on someone else's blood, mouths and bodies fused together and all barriers between them shattered. MURDER HUSBANDS DIE IN SEX GAME GONE WRONG Will composes on Freddie’s behalf, and suppresses a giggle. Jack will _love_ that. Hannibal would love that, come to it. It would appeal to his warped sense of romance.

 

Will slides his hand along the floor slowly, so slowly, finds the blade and curls his fingers around the handle, careful not to make a sound. Hannibal sleeps on, lips parted, breath slow and regular. Will tightens his grip and waits.

 

_Do it. Do it now._

 

Will moves like lightening, but he knows, he already knows while he’s bringing the knife down that he’s not fast enough, sentiment betraying him at the end, love and despair slowing his muscles. Hannibal’s eyes snap open, and Will finds himself pressed face down in the pillows, a knee on the back of his neck and his arm wrenched agonisingly behind him.

 

“Careless, Will” Hannibal says into his hair, inhaling deeply, scenting the rage and fear pouring off him. “Letting sentiment distract you from a kill.”

 

Will doesn’t struggle, knows better by this time. He drops the knife and Hannibal shifts off him, watching in amusement as Will cradles his damaged wrist and releases a flow of invective In Hannibal's direction.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ Hannibal, I just got movement back in that wrist.”

 

“Be grateful I didn’t break it again. Anyway, you shouldn’t be using that hand if you’re trying to kill someone quietly-your shoulders too stiff for the movement to be smooth.”

 

“I’m right handed. And it worked fine last night.”

 

“Last night you weren’t killing me. Learn to use the other one, it could save your life. Come on, let's get you fixed up” .

 

Will follows Hannibal to the kitchen, accepts the ice pack quietly while Hannibal fusses over his supplies.

 

“What woke you? I thought I was pretty quiet”

 

“You were. I was already awake.”

 

“Christ. Don’t you ever sleep?”

 

Hannibal smiles fondly, eyes on the bandages he’s wrapping around Will’s wrist.

 

“That would be unforgivably careless, considering who I’m sharing my bed with. All done.”

 

Hannibal presses a kiss to Will’s fingers and draws him to his feet. The kitchen and the city outside are so quiet, it feels like they’re the only people left alive. Will leans his head on Hannibal's shoulder and listens to their heartbeats echo through the silence.

 

“Come to bed Will”

 

Will nods and takes Hannibal’s hand, lets himself be guided back to their bed.

 

There will be other opportunities, after all.

  
  
  



End file.
